


my gift is my song/and this one’s for you

by HestiaForever



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Birthday, Boys In Love, Christmas Eve, Family, Fluff, Henry finally gets to be an author!, Ill-advised Instagram posts, M/M, Marriage Proposal, New Year's Eve, Post-Canon, Valentine's Day, ft. Stephen Colbert, someone give Henry’s pilot a raise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 15:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19359871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HestiaForever/pseuds/HestiaForever
Summary: It still amazes Henry, sometimes. That Alex loves him back; that the whole world knows and it’s okay. He turns his head and kisses Alex gently. The frizzing anxiety in his veins settles, and it’s like taking a breath of fresh air.Alex breaks away to smile against his lips. “Just like old times, huh? Do I need to let you go flee the country now?”ORAlex and Henry’s relationship, told through five holidays over five years.





	my gift is my song/and this one’s for you

_New Year’s Eve, 2020_

Henry spends Christmas and Boxing Day in London, suffering through painfully stiff dinners and carefully constructed family outings, made even worse by the continuing tension between his gran and— well, everyone. (Even though he can’t deny his satisfaction at seeing Philip and the Queen still treating each other with pointed chill, it doesn’t make it any easier when his gran inclines her head at the head of the table and condescends to ask him whether he’s gotten bored of “that American _boy_ of yours.”)

So he’s more than relieved when he, Bea, and Pez fly out to DC on the 30th, just in time for the annual White House Trio New Year’s Eve party. In a way, it’s kind of his and Alex’s anniversary— a year after the first time they kissed. Of course, Henry fled the country right after, he recalls with a wince, but that’s not the important part.

When their van pulls up to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Alex is in the reception room, talking on his phone. “Yeah, we’re gonna need like thirty more rolls of the blue streamers— no, not thirteen— three, zero—”

He catches Henry’s eye when he steps through the door and his tense expression splits into a smile that Henry is sure is mirrored on his own face. 

“Hang on— I need to go; I’ll call you back,” Alex promises into the phone, before hanging up and jogging over. And Henry can’t deny the thrill of it when Alex kisses him— it’s just a chaste peck, but they’re allowed to do that in public now!-- with the door to the most famous house in America still open behind them and workers around them setting up decorations for the party. Henry’s pretty sure he hears a camera click, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t think that freedom will ever get old.

The next day, the six of them get ready together. In accordance with this year’s color scheme, Henry wears a blue suit, and Alex wears a shimmery silver one. Of course, in true couple-y fashion, Alex takes a picture of himself kissing Henry on the cheek and posts it to Instagram under the hashtag #YoungAmericaGala2020 (despite Henry’s half-hearted protests). 

The party is much like Henry remembers it last year, dancing and drinking and loud music and mingling, but this time everyone seems to want to talk to him and Alex about their relationship. He wouldn’t mind, but everyone who’s read their emails knows much more about him and Alex than Henry would prefer, and no one seems too shy about it.

So after a drunk supermodel decides to serenade him with “Your Song”, and an actress from the new live action Peter Pan slyly asks him about his opinion on Return of the Jedi (nudge nudge wink wink) Henry decides he’s had enough and, in a bout of nostalgia, sneaks out into the garden.

True to form, Alex sits down next on a bench to him less than fifteen minutes later. He holds out a hand to Henry, and for a little while, they just sit there in companionable silence, hands interlocked and Alex’s head on Henry’s shoulder, the music and talking a muted undercurrent behind them. Henry knows he doesn’t have to explain himself to Alex, doesn’t have to make excuses for why he’s out here, and it’s a profound relief to be so understood. 

It still amazes him, sometimes. That Alex loves him back; that the whole world knows and _it’s okay._

He turns his head and kisses Alex gently. The frizzing anxiety in his veins settles, and it’s like taking a breath of fresh air. 

Alex breaks away to smile against his lips. “Just like old times, huh? Do I need to let you go flee the country now?”

Henry snorts and hits Alex lightly on the shoulder. “I think if I pulled that again my pilot would have a fit. And Pez. He wasn’t exactly happy to leave early.”

“Yeah, and then June and Nora would be mad at me, too,” Alex murmurs into the space between him and Henry. He lets out a faux-disappointed sigh. “So I guess you’ll just have to stay here and keep kissing me.”

Henry is happy to oblige. 

—

_Valentine’s Day, 2021_

The studio is a buzz of motion around Henry and Alex— people adjusting their mics, makeup artists adding last touches of powder, technicians adjusting sound and lights and music.

Stephen Colbert is on stage finishing up his opening monologue, but Alex barely hears him. This is the first time Alex has been on TV since “The Waterloo Letters” and everything that followed, and even though this appearance is supposedly to promote Henry’s LGBT rights foundation, but Alex highly doubts the conversation will stay solely on that topic. 

Alex remembers the last talk show he’d gone on— the British morning show that first weekend reluctantly pretending to be friends with Henry. The corner of Alex’s lip quirks. If only that Alex could see himself now.

“—a great musical guest tonight, and we’ve got quite a treat for you after the break— Prince Henry of Wales and the First Son of the United States, Alex Claremont-Diaz!” Colbert is saying to the sound of cheers from the studio audience. “Stay tuned, everyone!’

Henry smiles over at Alex, looking a million times more composed than him. On This Morning, Henry’s confident elegance had been annoying, but now, it calms something in Alex. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Alex mutters as a technician ushers them onstage.

His nerves dissipate a bit, though, at the welcome they get from the studio audience, most of whom are on their feet. He can see a good number of pride flags, too— both rainbow and pink, blue, and purple— and there’s at least one yellow _History, huh_ tee shirt.

Colbert stands up to shake Henry’s hand first, then Alex's. Henry has his press face on— a reserved smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Having seen the genuine version, Alex doesn’t know how he ever thought that this was it.

Once the cheering has died down a bit, Colbert turns to them. “Your Royal Highness and Mr. Claremont-Diaz— welcome to the show! Thanks for being here.” A couple more scattered cheers. He turns to Henry first. “Your Royal Highness— so you’re now living right here in New York City. I mean, that’s crazy! The Prince of England, right here in the big apple. What do you think?” 

Someone in the back of the audience whoops loudly, and Henry laughs. “Call me Henry, please. And as for the move— it’s a big adjustment, obviously. But it was refreshing to move out. I have to say, it’s a little depressing to be still living in your mum’s house at twenty three,” Henry jokes, to laughter from the audience. 

“Well, house might be a bit of an understatement,” Colbert says, laughing. “What was your first impression of New York?”

“Well, I can still hardly believe that you all drive on the right side of the road,” Henry quips. “But other than that— New York City is really a wonderful place, and I’m so happy to be here.”

“I understand the main reason for the move is the Henry Foundation for LGBTQ Rights, which— among many other initiatives— runs a shelter for LGBT teenagers in Brooklyn.” Colbert pulls out a picture of a tall brick building with floor to ceiling glass windows, Henry standing in front and smiling proudly.

“That’s right. LGBT youth are one hundred twenty percent more likely to be homeless than youth who identify as cisgender and heterosexual, so the four shelters run by my foundation worldwide aim to support homeless queer youth and raise awareness. And we plan to open even more shelters around the world this year, and into the future.” He smiles at Alex before continuing. “I just feel so fortunate to be able to be here in New York, personally supporting a cause very near and dear to my heart, alongside the person I love.”

The audience bursts into applause and cheers, and Alex takes a moment to marvel at the passion he sees in Henry’s eyes, in his posture, in the set of his jaw. This is a man could run a nation, he thinks.

“That’s absolutely amazing. I’m so happy for both of you,” Colbert says. “And that’s not the only thing you’ve done for the LGBT community. People rallied around you and Alex last fall when your emails were leaked and your relationship was revealed.” He takes out a screenshot from Alex’s twitter— a mural of Alex and Henry dressed as Han and Leia, the caption— _never tell me the odds._ “Can either of you give me some insight as to the fallout of the so-called Waterloo Letters? How did you feel after the story broke?”

Alex and Henry exchange glances, and Alex can see Henry’s hesitance to answer the question in the way he’s tensed up just slightly. Unnoticeable, to most people. Not to Alex.

Alex clears his throat. “Well, as you probably know, the letters and pictures that were published by the Daily Mail were leaked by the Richards campaign, which opposed my mom for the presidency last year. It was just so disappointing that Senator Richards would lower himself to that level— having me stalked, hacking my email. And it was devastating to have our personal correspondence— something so emotional and intimate to both of us— leaked to the public.

“But I’m so happy that us and our relationship could mean something to people around the world, and I was also so amazed by the level of support that poured in from all of y’all,” Alex continues. He gestures at the picture from his Twitter. “So thank you,” he says, turning to the audience.

The studio audience goes wild, and Henry takes Alex’s hand. The smile that Henry gives him isn’t his press smile— it’s his real one, the one that reaches his eyes and strips away some of the carefully constructed royal facade.

_give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart,_ Alex remembers writing in one of his emails. _there’s so much of you._ That’s what Henry’s doing right now, Alex realizes with a pang. Here he is, smiling a real, open, genuine smile on one of the most watched late night shows in the country, talking about his passion project and holding hands with Alex. He’s changed so much from the person Alex first met in Rio— hurt, lonely, trapped into living in a lie. Henry has always been one of the bravest people Alex knows, and now, the whole world knows it too.

—

_Henry’s birthday, 2022_

Even though he technically lives in Queens now (which still feels surreal to Henry, even after over a year, and over which the tabloids went wild over for a solid month— _the Prince of Wales, living in New York City with his boyfriend_ ), Henry still goes back to London for several days every month or so, at his grandmother and mother’s request. And as nice as it is to see Bea and his mother (and maybe even Philip, now, who is trying to make more of an effort) regularly in person, and not just over Skype, it pains him more than he thought it would to be away from Alex. 

He knows he and Alex now have infinitely more time together than when they lived in different countries and never knew for certain when they would see each other next, but he thinks he’s been spoiled by Alex’s constant presence. When he’s in England, his bed feels too big and too cold, his rooms in the palace so much lonelier and more impersonal than the brownstone, and he often finds himself habitually gravitating towards the coffeemaker to make Alex’s coffee in the mornings before he realizes Alex is six hours away. 

Unfortunately, the last day of one of these scheduled visits falls on his birthday. He’d been looking forward to spending his birthday with Ale. Bitterly, he’s sure his gran gets a kick out of it (which, in Henry’s humble opinion, is very un-Queenly), because she insists that he has to be in England that day for some important meeting or appearance. 

So he’s sitting on his bed in Kensington, feeling moody and maudlin, the night before he turns twenty five. Bea is sitting on his floor next to him, doing something on her phone, but after around ten minutes of silence, she chucks her phone at his head and groans. “Stop moping.”

He tosses her phone back off the bed and hears it land with a satisfying thump. “I’m not moping.”

Bea lets out a long-suffering sigh, stands up, and tugs him off the bed. “You absolutely are, and it’s ruining my mood, and we’re going to do something about it.”

So that’s how he ends up at the private airfield in the middle of the night, the January darkness bitterly cold, a pissed pilot on his hands, but the annoyance goes away when he gets back to their familiar brownstone at three AM, six hours later. It’s funny— only four months or so living here with Alex and it almost feels more like home than the palace ever did.

Henry turns his key in the lock as quietly as he can, even though he doesn’t know if Alex is asleep or not. Probably not. Henry has found that they both sleep better when together, a knowledge that warms something in the pit of his stomach. When he reaches their bedroom, though, Henry huffs out a laugh. Alex is asleep, but obviously not on purpose— books and notes are scattered around the bed, and Alex has a hand on his still-open laptop.

The sight makes something in Henry’s heart clench, and he just studies Alex for a moment, almost painfully in love. Here, now, in the middle of the night, Alex looks so different than he does during the day. When he’s awake, Alex is all barely contained passion, quick retorts, wit as sharp as a blade. Henry loves that Alex— he loves every Alex— but asleep, there’s a certain softness to him that makes Henry’s breath catch in his throat. It’s been over two years since their first kiss, but it sometimes still doesn’t seem real that this amazing man loves Henry back. That Henry is the only person who gets to see Alex like this, with his eyes closed, face relaxed, soft yellow lights from the street outside filtering through his eyelashes, cheek pressed into the pillow, hand clutching the sheets.

Henry must not be as quiet as he thinks he is, though, because Alex stirs when Henry changes into a old, soft t-shirt and starts trying to move some of Alex’s books to the nightstand. 

His eyelashes— God, those infernal eyelashes— flutter open a bit. For a moment, caught on the threshold between being between awake and asleep, Alex just smiles softly at Henry. Then, suddenly, he jolts fully awake, caught between joy and panic. “Henry— you’re here?! I’ve missed you so much. Oh God— I need to finish this essay— wait— how are you here already? I thought you weren’t coming back until tonight?”

Henry shrugs. “Missed you. Rescheduled some meetings, drove my pilot mad by asking to come back early.”

And the smile that spreads across Alex’s face makes all that worth it. He hooks a finger into Henry’s surprisingly worn tee and pulls him down, closer. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he murmurs against Henry’s lips. 

There’s a sudden clatter when Henry collides with the laptop. Alex pulls away and sighs. “Goddamn 2L. Goddamn professional responsibility essay. Goddamn Nixon for making this fucking course a requirement.”

Henry feels the corners of his lips quirk up. “Ah, yes, the true injustice of Watergate— an increased workload for law students.”

“Ha, ha. Just— c’mere.” Alex closes the laptop and tosses it aside, tugging Henry towards him once again, without obstacles this time. They kiss, and Henry thinks that the overnight flight was definitely worth it.

—

_Christmas Eve, 2023_

Alex loves private jets. It’s not only that DC after dark is breathtaking from a bird’s eye view— as they descend into the capital on Christmas Eve, Alex can see the rows of red and white lights of bumper-to-bumper holiday traffic on the interstate, and he’s profoundly glad he’s not down there. He says as much to Henry, who looks up from typing on his computer and laughs.

Henry’s working on a passion project that he’s had in mind for years— a book about queer leaders in history. For so long, his dreams of being a writer had seemed impossible, and then he had his hands full with the foundation. But he’s been working on this project for almost a year and a half now— reading books, compiling letters, meeting with experts— and Henry can finally feel the pieces coming together. It’s an amazing feeling, writing about something he’s so passionate about, watching the word count at the bottom of the page grow slowly but surely.

This is the first year that Henry’s not spending Christmas in London with his family, but he realizes that he’s not spending Christmas with Alex as a means of escape— the way he might have tried to a couple years ago— because he doesn’t need to escape from his family anymore. They’ve all come a long way— a couple years ago, Christmas with his family would have meant the usual melancholy silence from his mother, condescension from Philip, and pointed remarks from his gran about how _don’t Philip and Martha look nice together, what a respectable British young lady._ Now, his mum is almost back to how she was before his dad’s death, Philip is trying to make up for years of intimidation and bullying, and the Queen— well, she’s at least resigned herself to the fact that Alex is around to stay, even if she doesn’t like it.

When they arrive, the White House is decked out in holiday splendor. The front facade is lit up in red and green, and a huge Christmas tree sits in the reception hall. Alex’s dad greets them when they arrive, hugging Henry just as tightly as Alex. 

Dinner is a casual affair— just Alex’s family, Zahra, Shaan, and Henry, with Christmas music playing quietly in the background. There’s less discussion about the already-tumultuous upcoming election than Henry would have thought. The conversation mostly stays on personal matters, such as June’s relationship with Nora. They’ve officially been together for over two years now, but for a long time, they’d kept it under wraps, wary of going under the scrutiny that Henry and Alex had gone through. This year’s pride month, though, June had finally posted a picture to her Instagram of her kissing Nora, and the tabloids had gone wild. 

“The bigots are just pissed that the entire White House trio is queer,” Alex says, rolling his eyes. They’re talking about a statement the Richards campaign made, about the ‘declining standards of conduct for the leaders of our country and the people associated with them.’ “How is that asshole even running again, anyways? It’s like the entire country has conveniently forgotten—” he gestures between himself and Henry— “everything.”

June snorts. “Speaking of which— have you two seen the latest tabloid headlines? Daily Mail thinks you’re secretly engaged, but In Touch says that y’all broke up— apparently Henry got tired of your ‘workaholic tendencies’,” she says with exaggerated air quotes.

Alex grins and turns to Henry, adopting a look of doe-eyed sadness. “I’m so sorry for the late nights at the campus library, sweetheart. Please, please don’t leave me?”

Henry sniffs indignantly. “Sorry, love, but we’re over. I’m going to go find another son of a world leader who’ll treat me right.”

President Claremont laughs. “How’s the book going, Henry?” 

“Really well, actually! I can really feel the last bits coming together— hopefully, I’ll be done with the first draft early next year. Right now, I’m actually working on one of the last bits I have planned, about Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens,” he says, grinning at Alex. 

“I give myself credit for that name,” Alex’s dad says with a laugh. “Prophetic genius.”

Nora makes a face. “I still can’t walk by the Hamilton portrait in the Red Room without shuddering.”

Henry feels his cheeks go bright red. Alex’s mom shoots a significant glance to Nora and cuts in quickly, “Well, I imagine millions will be excited to read a book by their prince. It’s an important topic, and I know I’m looking forward to reading it.”

Henry clears his throat. “Well, actually, I’ll be publishing under a pseudonym.”

“Really?” Nora says. “I imagine ‘HRH’ on the cover of a book might boost sales.”

Henry snorts. “Yeah, well, a book about LGBT history doesn’t exactly fit into the ‘proper prince image’. Obviously things have changed since when they wouldn’t even let me pick my own favorite author—“ he cuts a glance at Alex “—but I still doubt they would let me publish exactly what I want to. And it’s my choice, too. I don’t want the book to sell just because of my title. I want to know that I can really do this— be successful in this— because of my own skill.”

“Well, the parts I’ve read are pretty kick-ass,” Alex says, smiling reassuringly at Henry. 

From there, the conversation goes to Alex’s plans for after law school, June’s latest job as a speechwriter for a New York Democrat running for Congress, and the best Christmas movies. (Henry is partial to Love Actually; Alex and his mom are both fans of The Nightmare Before Christmas; June takes after her father in her love for A Charlie Brown Christmas, and Zahra is sticking by Gremlins.)

That night, in bed, Alex rests his head on Henry’s chest. “I’m glad you’re spending Christmas here this year, sweetheart.”

Henry grins. “You should have heard the way mum cut gran down when she got started on trying to object. Something about me being old enough to make my own decisions. That alone made it worth it.”

Alex gasps, faux-offended. “I see how it is. The only reason you’re with me is to spite your gran.”

Henry nods solemnly. “It’s true. Sorry to break your heart, love, but it’s quite funny to see the Queen of England in a huff.”

“You might be a Slytherin after all,” Alex sighs. “Making clueless Americans fall in love with you left and right just for the fun of it.”

“I don’t know, I quite like this one clueless American,” Henry says ponderingly. “He’s a political genius and has got quite a nice arse. I just might be in love with him.”

Alex grins and kisses him, gently at first, then harder, and Henry thinks— yeah. I’m absolutely in love with him.

—

_Alex’s birthday, 2024_

_This is a bad idea,_ Henry thinks. _I’m not going to do this._

Though maybe it’s not. They’ve discussed it before, and Alex had seemed open to the idea. The main issue had been timing— but Alex graduates from law school in a couple of months, and Henry’s just secured a book deal, and maybe...

He takes a deep breath and looks down at the ring box in his hands. I’m going to do this.

They’re at the lake house for Alex’s twenty-sixth birthday, just the six of them— Henry, Alex, Nora, June, Pez, and Bea. The sun went down a while ago, and everyone but Henry and Alex is in the living room, either drinking or sleeping. 

Henry quickly shoves the ring box into his pocket when the front door creaks open. Alex steps back out on the porch with two Shiners, handing one to Henry and curling up beside him on the swing. Pleasantly buzzed, they listen to the cicadas and joke about that day’s antics on the lake.

“And Pez’s face— god, his face was priceless,” Alex is saying, through a fit of slightly intoxicated giggles. They’re talking about Pez’s brilliant idea of live-streaming while driving a jet ski, which, predictably, had ended in disaster. 

“Still— over half a million views in less than five minutes,” Henry laughs. “I suppose everyone likes watching rich people make fools of themselves.”

Alex makes a sound of agreement. There’s a moment of quiet, then Alex says, “Remember the first time we came out here?” He snorts. “That was— what, the second time you fled the country to get away from me?”

Henry flicks Alex’s shoulder playfully. “Right, and then you showed up at Kensington cursing me out. The height of romance, really.”

“Your very own Romeo,” Alex quips.

They fall into a comfortable silence, Alex’s head in the crook of Henry’s shoulder. Alex is beautiful, backlit by the hazy yellowish porch lights, a small, absentminded smile on his lips, and Henry— Henry loves this man so much it almost physically hurts.

Yes. He’s going to do this.

He takes a deep breath. “Alex— there’s something that I’ve been meaning to ask you—”

“Do you want to get married?”

Henry stares at Alex in surprise. Of all the ways he had seen this going, getting beaten to the chase had not been one of them. Even Alex looks a little surprised at the words that left his lips.

Alex seems to interpret Henry’s surprised silence as reluctance, because he says quickly, “I know last year we decided to wait, because— well, you know— royal wedding— so if you still don’t want to, I totally understand— I mean, I don’t even have a ring or anything, I just—”

Henry can’t quite keep the grin off his face when he slides off the swing and pulls out the ring box. “I suppose this is normally when I would ask you, but seeing as how you’ve already gotten to that part— I— yes.”

When they kiss, giddy and unbelievably in love, the only thing Henry can think is that— yes. Maybe he carries his heart on the outside of his body, but now, kissing the love of his life in a Texan lake house, surrounded by fireflies— he doesn’t really mind.

—

Later, Alex posts a picture of their hands on his Instagram, fingers laced against the backdrop of the midnight blue Texan night sky, the gold band on Alex’s finger shining. A couple minutes later, from somewhere inside the house, Henry hears June shriek, “Oh my God!” followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps running towards the door.

A glimmer of mischief in his eyes, Alex tugs Henry up and they sneak past his guard, running towards the lake, trying to keep their laughter quiet, hands still laced. Something big and bubbly and light fills Henry’s chest.

In the morning, there will be the world to answer to, but for now, it’s just them, and Henry wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> So excited to be watching this fandom grow by the day!
> 
> If you liked this (or if you hated it) please please please leave me a comment or a kudos!! I am a clingy human being in constant need of validation. :)


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